


Dear Mia

by Ginipig



Series: Love By Any Other Name [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Epistolary, F!Hawke - Freeform, Hawke left in the Fade, Letters, Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, New Relationship, Oblivious Cullen Rutherford, Sweet Cullen Rutherford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22461499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginipig/pseuds/Ginipig
Summary: Mia's letters have always been nosy, but lately she's caught wind of ahappinessin Cullen's writing and won't stop pressing for information about his new relationship, which she has deduced to be the reason. Cullen is glad to respond as usual — "Stop prying" — but his reticence about their relationship upsets Alistair.
Relationships: Alistair/Cullen Rutherford, cullistair - Relationship
Series: Love By Any Other Name [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1339774
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38
Collections: Cullistair Kisses





	Dear Mia

It started out simply enough.

Perhaps that had been the problem.

Cullen had only confessed his love to Alistair a few weeks earlier, after Alistair’s fall into and return from the Fade at Adamant. To his utter joy and surprise, Alistair confessed the same.

They’d tried to keep things quiet, but Cullen had never met a bigger group of gossipmongers than the Inquisition’s Inner Circle, who had apparently been _placing bets_ on when the two of them would finally admit their feelings.

(Hawke had won the bet posthumously, in spite of her asking Alistair, in between fighting demons and Wardens at Adamant, when he would “make his move.” The pool of participants had unanimously declared such a blatantly illegal ploy as exactly that and then graciously overlooked her slight, using her “winnings” to toast her life and sacrifice until dawn at the Herald’s Rest. Cullen had joined them for a couple of ales — privately thanking her for bringing Alistair back to him — but Varric, Alistair, the Chargers, every member of the Inner Circle who had remotely enjoyed her company, and several dozen citizens of Kirkwall remained abed and useless for the whole of the following day.)

Since the Inner Circle’s gossip one day became Skyhold’s gossip the next, any hope for privacy with respect to their relationship evaporated as sure as a rift closed by the Inquisitor.

So Cullen supposed it was only a matter of time before his family prodded as well.

> _Cullen,_
> 
> _I was glad to receive your letter informing me of the Inquisition’s victory at Adamant and, more importantly, your survival. (It only took over a decade for you to manage that much. Well done! Your darling nephew took less then a tenth of the time to move beyond diapers.)_
> 
> _That said, you sound happy. It's been — never mind. I just hope you are well. Which reminds me..._
> 
> _Alistair? Not The Warden? Not Warden Alistair, Hero of the Fifth Blight? Your last letter was far too short!_
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Mia_

Upon reading the last few lines, Cullen rolled his eyes and immediately reached for a piece of parchment.

> _Mia,_
> 
> _I will write you a longer letter when there's time. Stop prying._

“Uh-oh, I know that grumpy face.” Alistair entered the office, carrying a tray laden with more food than Cullen could imagine eating even half of. “Who’s in trouble now?”

“No one is in trouble,” Cullen said with a fond smile and shake of his head. “I was responding to a prying letter from Mia.”

“You did remember to tell her you were alive this time, right?”

Alistair dragged the lone guest chair to Cullen’s side of the desk, sat, and began to divvy up the food. He served himself nearly three-quarters of what was on the tray, for which Cullen thanked the Maker.

“Yes, I did. But that wasn’t enough.”

Alistair spoke between — and occasionally, during — mouthfuls. “Oh yes, how dare she want to know more than, ‘I’m alive. Love, Cullen.’ So demanding.”

Cullen snorted but said nothing as he nibbled at his own lunch.

“Anything specific she’s prying about?”

“Apparently I sounded happy in my previous letter, in addition to referring to you informally, and she wants to know more.”

Alistair grinned. “Referring to me informally? Is that her way of teasing you about us?”

“Hardly. It’s her way of attempting to extract information on the nature of our relationship.”

“The nature of our …” Alistair paused in his food inhalation to frown. “Haven’t you told her?”

Cullen almost laughed. “Maker, no! She’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“Oh.”

Alistair fell uncharacteristically silent for the span of a dozen or so bites before he set down his fork.

“Is it because I’m a man?” he asked his plate softly. “Or do you just think she won’t like me?”

The underlying melancholy in his tone hit Cullen like a smack in the back of the head, and only then did he hear his own words as Alistair must have.

He reached over and placed his hand on Alistair’s without even thinking — which in itself was a sign of how much he cared for Alistair because he hated touching and being touched.

“No,” he said, squeezing Alistair’s hand when he saw the hurt in those lovely, radiant eyes. “This has nothing to do with you at all. I’d rather my — our private affairs remain that way.”

Alistair dropped his gaze again and shrugged. “It’s not like they’re really that private anymore. Everyone around Skyhold knows. Why not your family?”

“Alistair.” Cullen touched his fingers to Alistair’s chin and tilted his face up so their gazes met. “I love you. But I don’t wish to talk about it. Except to you.” He smiled then because Mia was right — he _was_ happy, and that was because of Alistair.

“So, do you just imagine keeping me a big secret forever?” Alistair’s usual grin seemed off, somehow. Brittle. “What about when the war is over? You leave me in a town in Ferelden somewhere while you visit them? Or —” His grin widened, but it only grew more grotesque, almost like a grimace. “Do you not imagine us both making it that far?”

“Of course not!” Cullen took both of Alistair’s hands in both of his as his stomach soured. This was not the lunch conversation he’d been anticipating. “I promise you, this is not a larger statement about you or us. I merely do not wish to waste time writing a letter to Mia only to receive more questions for my trouble.”

Alistair’s brow furrowed deeply, and he pulled his hands away. “I see.” He stood, looking everywhere but at Cullen. “I just remembered I have a — a thing. A meeting. With my Wardens. I should …”

He inhaled sharply and turned to leave.

“Alistair.” Cullen rounded his desk to follow. “Please, I didn’t mean to upset you. Let me explain —”

When Alistair turned back and met his gaze, the shine of unfallen tears stole whatever protest Cullen had planned. “Please …” His voice wavered. “I — I’ll see you later.”

And then he left, leaving Cullen stunned and nauseous in his wake.

* * *

Cullen could think of little else the rest of the afternoon. Through meetings and correspondence and inspections, all he could recall was the rasp of Alistair’s voice and the tears in his eyes.

How could he make Alistair understand that this wasn’t about him? It was about Cullen and his relationship (or lack thereof) with his family. He loved Alistair so much that sometimes he felt as though his heart might burst, and once he’d finally said the words aloud, he found no difficulty in repeating them constantly.

But why should he have to tell his family? He hadn’t seen any of them in over a decade — Maker, Bran had been ten and Rosie only six when he’d left. He was closer to most of the Inner Circle and many of his lieutenants than he could possibly be to them. What did they truly care about his relationship, and why should he bother?

Upon returning to his office in the late afternoon, he returned to his desk and rubbed his face with both hands. Through his fingers, Mia’s letter seemed to glare at him in accusation.

And yet, one line stood out above the others.

_You sound happy. It's been — never mind. I just hope you are well._

What had she meant to say? It had been what? Too long since he’d last written to her happily?

She was correct, he supposed. He wasn’t sure he could remember a time he wrote to her with any undertone of happiness. Except perhaps during his Templar training, and that was far more religious zeal than actual happiness. Maker, he shuddered to think of how naive and oblivious he must have seemed back then.

She was right about another thing — he _was_ happy. Alistair filled him with a joy he’d never known before, and if he one day lost everything he held dear in life except for Alistair, he knew he could still be content.

And Mia had only asked about Alistair because Cullen had unintentionally pointed to him as his source of happiness. His eyes wandered to his own sparse letter.

_I will write you a longer letter when there's time. Stop prying._

Simply informing her of his happiness and its cause wouldn’t be too painful. He needn’t detail everything.

So he picked up his quill, dipped it in ink, and began to write.

* * *

Alistair had tried and failed to distract himself all afternoon from his and Cullen’s conversation at lunch. Could it be considered an argument? If so, it would be their first as a couple, which might have seemed momentous if it didn’t feel so horrible.

He’d met with his Wardens, sparred with Bull, bantered with Dorian, vented to Leliana, and even drunk with Varric. None of them had succeeded in taking his mind off the dense feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Leliana had offered her services, but Cullen didn’t deserve all the shudder-inducing things she’d mentioned.

And Varric … damn that dwarf. He’d not only decided not to blame him for Hawke’s death (though Alistair certainly did), but he seemed to have made it his personal mission to ensure Alistair’s happiness with Cullen. Perhaps it was his way of honoring Hawke’s last unscrupulously won bet. (It was so like Hawke to cheat like that, though, so no one, least of all Alistair, could muster any reaction other than a tearful eye roll.)

Varric had finished off his ale and lowered his mug to the table with a clunk. “Charming,” he began, with Alistair’s shortened nickname — the full one was Prince Charming because he was a prince and charming. Haha. “So what if Curly’s being an idiot? We all have issues with family, and if he doesn’t want to tell them about you just yet, don’t take it personally. He’ll get there.” He gave Alistair’s shoulder a shove. “Now _you_ stop being an idiot and go talk to him. Hawke’s orders.”

Alistair smiled sadly. “How long are you going to be using that one on me?”

“As long as it works. Now get out of here.”

As he walked up to one of Cullen’s office doors, his heart began to pound. What if Cullen was too angry? What if he’d ruined everything by pushing Cullen too far too soon?

Hand on the doorknob, he waited for several quickened heartbeats before opening the door and stepping inside.

Cullen sat, as Cullen always did, hunched over his desk, face too close to the parchment, scribbling away. Whatever he was writing seemed to come to him so quickly he couldn’t write it down fast enough. When his quill ran low on ink, he dipped it into the bottle so quickly that ink dripped onto the outside of the glass and even onto the parchment.

Alistair watched him in silence; he’d never seen Cullen write anything with such … impatience and speed before.

Must have been some report.

After a few minutes, Cullen lay down his quill, read over what he’d written, and smiled. Then he blew on the parchment to help the ink dry and lay it almost reverently on the desk.

“That looks important,” Alistair said.

Cullen looked up sharply, startled, but rather than relaxing and smiling as he usually did when he realized the intruder was Alistair, his face fell into the neutral mask that Alistair hadn’t seen since they’d confessed their feelings for each other.

Cullen nodded. “It is,” he said softly.

“I can leave if you still need to —”

“No!” Cullen looked just as surprised as Alistair at his outburst. His hand shot to rub the back of his neck. “That is, er — I’d like you to stay. If you want.”

“I don’t want to distract you from an important memo —”

“Report,” Cullen corrected automatically.

It was a joke of theirs; Cullen preferred the term _report_ to _memo_ because the latter was “what nobles call their correspondence to make them sound more important.” If Cullen responded as usual, perhaps their relationship wasn’t in as dire straights as Alistair had previously thought?

Or maybe it was just a habit.

“And it’s not a report,” Cullen continued, avoiding Alistair’s gaze. “It’s actually …” He shrugged. “It’s my letter to Mia.” After a moment’s hesitation, he snatched the parchment and held it out to Alistair. “Would you like to read it?”

 _The_ parchment, which Cullen had been feverishly writing on when Alistair arrived. The one he’d been focusing on so intently that he didn’t even notice Alistair standing in his doorway for several minutes, the one he’d smiled at and called important.

“I don’t need to. Really. I’m sor —”

Cullen shook his head. “I’d like you to. And please, don’t be sorry. I didn’t think that you might feel —” He shrugged. “I didn’t think.”

Then he extended his hand with the parchment even farther toward Alistair.

Alistair eyed the letter warily but slowly reached for it. Cullen’s writing filled the page — which for him was unheard of for a letter, much less one to Mia — and its relative sloppiness reminded Alistair of the gentle smile Cullen had graced it with.

He took the page with a shaking hand and began to read.

> _Mia,_
> 
> _I will write you a longer letter when there's time **,** ~~Stop prying.~~ but I will say this much:_
> 
> _Your suspicions are correct. I am indeed happy. Happier, in fact, than I believe I have been at any point in my life, save perhaps our youthful years spent in Honnleath. And since I apparently lack subtlety (as the Inquisition’s spymaster and ambassador constantly remind me), you have guessed correctly._
> 
> _The source of my happiness is, in fact, Alistair: Grey Warden, Hero of the Fifth Blight, son of King Maric, former schoolmate (for we trained together in Ferelden, though he was a year ahead of me), companion of the Hero of Ferelden, one of my saviors at Kinloch Hold, and the current center of my existence._
> 
> _He came to Skyhold several months ago due to concerns with the Wardens, and during his time with the Inquisition, we quickly grew close. I do not think I have ever had a true friend; certainly not if Alistair is an example of one. We bonded over our shared difficulties during and after the Blight, as well as our determination to atone for past mistakes (though he is and has always been a far better man than I could ever hope to be), and he helped me through a particularly trying period resulting from my decision to cease taking lyrium._
> 
> _When it became clear that we would need to confront the Wardens at Adamant, I grew worried for his safety. So much so, in fact, that I gave him Bran’s coin — it’s likely neither he nor you remember, but the day I left for training, Bran handed me a coin and told me it was lucky. Throughout my training and all my trials in Kinloch and Kirkwall, that coin has been my one link to … my old life, I suppose. A comfort, a reminder, a promise. I have kept it always on my person and have long considered it one of my most prized possessions, of the sort one would grab first in a fire._
> 
> _I gave it to Alistair just before we stormed Adamant._
> 
> _One might say it both did and didn’t work — Alistair returned from Adamant alive, but only after surviving great danger. I will not go into detail, but suffice to say that I did not consider myself to be in much danger during the battle (with which I know many who would disagree, you first among them), but we were left to wonder in anxious agony at the safety of the Inquisitor and her companions, including Alistair, for perhaps half a day. To me, that time lasted centuries._
> 
> _During his absence, when we feared the group lost, I realized something. My relief at his eventual safety was … indescribable. I nearly wept._
> 
> _Upon our return to Skyhold, I confessed to him my true feelings. You can most assuredly guess what they were and are._
> 
> _Alistair, to my delight, returns my feelings, and it is for this reason that I can assure you at last, dear sister, that I am, indeed, happy._
> 
> _Truly, I have never known such bliss, such contentment, and I credit Alistair completely. He, like myself, has spent the last decade recovering from the wounds of war, and I have found in him not only a kindred spirit, but a salve. He understands that neither of us are the men we once were; but our deficiencies are balanced, our broken parts made whole, in each other. And perhaps most importantly, he loves me wholly and completely, faults and all._
> 
> _I am under no illusion that I am a good man; too many of my decisions, actions, and lack of both have caused true harm to countless innocents. But with Alistair, I am not only inspired to be a man worthy of him; I honestly believe that some day, I could be. For him and because of him._
> 
> _Before I realized my own feelings, he presented me with a magically preserved rose he found deep in the Frostbacks, which he said reminded him of me in its stubborn resilience, stupidity, and bravery. It sits on the edge of my desk where I can see it as I work. He has taken to carrying my/Bran’s coin with him everywhere. I wonder occasionally if tokens are old-fashioned, or perhaps childish._
> 
> _And then I look at Alistair’s rose and decide I do not care. It reminds me at a glance that I love and am loved, and I cannot imagine anything better._

Alistair could barely speak for several moments after he’d finished. Cullen had never been a man of words, and he had accepted that. Cullen showed his love in other ways — the intensity of his kisses, the strength of his arms, and Alistair swore he could read Cullen’s every emotion in his beautiful amber eyes.

Alistair was the man who wore his heart on his sleeve and expressed it in his words. Cullen kept his heart on the inside (where it belonged), but allowed Alistair to see it through his actions.

Alistair raised his blurry gaze from the letter to find Cullen rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking to and away from him.

“You plan to send this to her?” Alistair rasped.

“I —” Cullen let his gaze roam Alistair’s face and swallowed. “Yes. If you wish.”

Unable to speak, Alistair did the next best thing — he took Cullen’s face in his hands and showed his gratitude, appreciation, and love the way Cullen always did.

Through action.

Cullen tensed for just a moment before relaxing into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Alistair and holding him close, gently, as if he were the most precious thing in all of Thedas.

Breaking apart only to gasp for air, they rested their foreheads against one another.

“I didn’t mean for you to write this much,” Alistair said.

Cullen smiled. “Nor did I. I began with the intention of simply explaining the situation. I suppose I got rather … carried away.” His hand leapt to the back of his neck.

Alistair intercepted it and threaded their fingers together. “It’s perfect. But I’ll only allow you to send it on the condition that you rewrite it so I can keep this copy.”

Cullen chuckled. “That seems fair.”

* * *

A few days later, Cullen sent his letter to Mia, which he concluded with:

> _I do hope this letter was long enough for you._
> 
> _Cullen_

At the bottom was an additional note in a vastly different hand.

> _Hi, this is Alistair! I promise I didn’t force him to write this at swordpoint. Apparently getting upset at him for not wanting to talk about me is far more effective — who knew?_
> 
> _I’ve heard a bit about you and all the Rutherfords, and I hope to learn even more in future letters. In the meantime, you have my word as a Fereldan, a Warden, and a bastard that I will never allow anything to happen to Cullen. And fear not, for I carry a coin which I have on the highest authority is incredibly lucky._
> 
> _At least it will be if I don’t accidentally spend it first._
> 
> _Alistair_

**Author's Note:**

> This one's been sitting finished in my fic folder, but I hadn't posted it because I'd hoped to add to it. It's officially complete, but I might add more detailing how Alistair and Mia's relationship evolves via letter.


End file.
